One Last Vow
by Galorin
Summary: Elrond sails to Valinor with the Ring-bearers and is finally reunited with Celebrían. But, it is not the joyful homecoming he had hoped for. Have they both changed too much over five hundred years, or can they love again?
1. Ever Nearer

Disclaimer: This story is intended for entertainment only, I make no money from it, all characters belong to the Tolkien estate.

A/N: This story takes place after the War of the Ring, when Elrond sails with the rest of the Ring-bearers to Valinor. He is to be reunited with his wife Celebrian, daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, who was captured by orcs centuries earlier and injured. When Elrond could not heal her, she was sent to Valinor in the hope that those fabled lands could bring her comfort.  
  
**One Last Vow  
**  
**Chapter One: Ever Nearer  
**  
Elrond shifted his body with a grunt, trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden planks of the ship's deck. He could stand the stuffy confines below deck no longer, and wished to sleep under the stars, to have his father's light shine upon him as he dreamed. But, his dreams were little different than his waking thoughts, all spun and swirled and circled back to one image, one word, like a whirlpool feeding into itself. _Celebrían_.  
  
Every wave the small ship skimmed over brought him closer, and his faded memories of her brightened, new life poured into them like vivid paint stroked onto a canvas. He rose suddenly, walking to the bow in the silence of the night. It was foolish, but somehow even that small distance closer to her comforted him. He closed his eyes, inhaling the seaspray deeply. He had never imagined he would be here. Always something held him to the eastern lands, always someone needed his aid, needed his guidance. But ever he waited for the time to be right, for his obligations to be filled and his debts paid and his chance to bolt to present itself. He had sworn to her that they would see each other again. That was the only vow he had left to keep.  
  
Elrond's face clouded, his eyes opening to squint into the inky darkness. But, what would he find on those shores? He gritted his teeth as he was assaulted by the memory of the last time he had seen her. Even now, the thought of that time pained him, the wound still felt raw.  
  
She had been so frighteningly thin as he helped her off of her horse, felt the way she leaned into him, barely able to stand. He didn't want to let her go, no matter how much she needed to leave, even if it meant her life, he selfishly wanted her to stay. But, as she looked up at him, her deep blue eyes luminous with tears, he saw there what she would not express aloud. Relief.  
  
She had been relieved to be leaving behind this land that had so abused her. It was a comfort that Elrond, despite all he had tried and all the ancient wisdom he had drawn from, could not offer her. Only the pure air of Valinor could save her. Elrond had sighed, lifted her small body in his arms, and carried her to the ship. He had not shed a tear, instead gave her the warmest smile he could muster, then turned her over to the sailors to bear her from him. It had not been until he was on the road, high in the hills above the Havens, where only the sparrows and deer could see, that he had wept.  
  
Would he find her now little improved, still clinging to life with reluctant fingers, still a faded shell of the woman he loved? Would he find she now loved another? Would she ever forgive him for how long he had tarried in Middle Earth?  
  
Elrond spun, feeling eyes upon him. Standing beside the door to the lower deck was Galadriel. Her piercing blue gaze, so much like her daughter's had once been, lay heavily upon him. Elrond turned back to the sea, waiting for her to speak. For he sensed she had not just come above deck for some air.  
  
"Elrond," she said quietly, stepping nearer to him, "Are we such terrible company that you must sleep in the elements?"  
  
"No, my Lady," he said, his voice thick as he wished she would leave. He could not possibly explain to her how he was feeling this night.  
  
"I am excited to see her again too." Elrond glanced back, seeing the smile that softened Galadriel's features. But, the joy faded from her eyes like the wilting of a flower as she continued, "We were always close, my daughter and I. I always blamed myself for what happened to her, blamed myself for her capture. I know that if I had not guilted her into visiting me so often she would have remained safely in Rivendell...where she belonged."  
  
"No, no it was not your fault," Elrond insisted, turning fully to her. But, that very thought had crossed his mind before, and the smallest seed of resentment had been planted in his mind all those long years ago. Galadriel cocked her head at him, smiling knowingly. She was inside his mind, she knew he had blamed her too. Elrond glanced away in shame, as if by avoiding her gaze he could gate off his mind. But, he knew it would not work.  
  
"But, blame matters little now, doesn't it Elrond? All will soon be set right."  
  
"Yes, it will."  
  
She did not even need to read his mind to sense the tension in his voice. "You fear what may have changed in all these years, don't you?"  
  
Elrond nodded, bowing his head to hide the vulnerability in his eyes. Suddenly, he felt a gentle hand on his arm. "My gift of foresight is not always perfect, but I can tell you this. Her love for you burns as bright as ever. You will be happy again."  
  
Finally, Elrond looked up, his gray eyes stormy. "If only I could see her one more time, see her smile and laugh and live just for a moment, that would be enough for me, that would make me happy. That is all I ask."  
  
"I think you will get even more than that," Galadriel said, a fond smile lighting her face.  
  
Elrond tried to smile back, but the expression was forced as doubts still clouded his mind. With a tiny nod of farewell, Galadriel went below deck again, her steps careful so as not to disturb the hobbits or Gandalf.  
  
Elrond watched her back and realized what a selfish fool he was. He fretted over seeing his love again, when only days earlier, Galadriel had left her love behind, possibly forever. With a shameful sigh, Elrond turned again to the sea, his gray eyes scanning over the darkened waves. Where was his legendary strength and wisdom now, where was the hardened leader he used to be? He smiled ruefully, finally a true expression, as he realized that elf dissolved around Celebrían. That was why he loved her so. She was the only person in all of Arda with whom he dared to be weak.


	2. The Day She Stopped Running

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1  
  
**Chapter 2: The Day She Stopped Running  
**

* * *

Celebrían was tying her cloak beneath her chin when Gaerdhal appeared in her front door. She saw his shadow fall across the floor as the early morning sun glinted behind him and she did not even have to turn to see who it was. He leaned against the doorjam, crossing his thick arms over his chest.  
  
"You have to stop doing this," he ordered quietly.  
  
"I don't know what in the blazes you're talking about," she said in mild annoyance, casting her blue eyes over her shoulder for a long moment.  
  
Gaerdhal sighed in exasperation, "You can't disappear into the hills every time a ship comes from the east. You could be hurt or lost out there."  
  
"We're in Valinor," she said with a toss of her silver hair, her voice now distracted as she threw a lunch into a canvas sack, "I have nothing to fear here. Besides, we live on an island, how can I possibly get lost?"  
  
"What if he's on this one?"  
  
"He's never coming," she spat, the venom in her voice surprising even her. She sobered quickly, glancing down in shame. She took two deep breaths, and finally raised her gaze to Gaerdhal's sympathetic green eyes, "You don't know what it's like, hoping every time you see sails that this will be the one. Thinking that your wait will finally be over. I can't stand the disappointment anymore," her voice caught, and she bit her lip, "I can't be here to watch that ship empty and not recognize a single face. I can't watch everyone else reunited with those they love while I stand in the shadows, wishing it was my turn. Wishing they had not all forgotten about me."  
  
Gaerdhal drew a few steps closer to her. The sun shone through his dark hair, his fine-boned face tilted to one side as he said, "I remember when you first came here, when you were brought to me for care. You were a broken creature, you had no hope. But I could also see a glimpse of what you had once been...a vibrant and caring elf, a child of legends. And here you are now, as beautiful as the stars themselves." Gaerdhal lifted a hand to her face, brushing his knuckles over her cheek, "They haven't forgotten you. No one could ever forget you."  
  
Celebrían smiled fondly at the gentle healer, but edged away from him. _Elrond's hands were rougher_. The thought came unbidden to her mind, and she nearly cursed aloud. It didn't matter what Elrond had been like. She was never going to see him again.  
  
Most of the time, she could resist such bitter thoughts, but whenever word reached them that a ship was soon to dock, she lost her resolve. It was resentment that drove her from the city, but behind that, deeper in her heart, she felt hurt. She never spoke of it, but she felt so abandoned and lonely sometimes. Though she lived in this realm of indescribable beauty and spent her days surrounded by kind friends, contentment eluded her.  
  
"I'll be back by nightfall," she promised and Gaerdhal nodded, his eyes tight with concern.  
  
"You know I'll get worried about you and come looking for you by noon," he quietly confessed.  
  
Celebrían shot him a long-suffering look that turned into a reluctant smile, "I'll save you an apple," she promised.  
  
As Celebrían strolled through the cobbled streets of Tol Eressea, she smiled at those she passed, and was stopped several times to chat with elves she knew. The people of this city were truly the kindest she had ever known, tranquil people who revered the sea. Her Noldor blood had not earned her a single angry glance, and for that she was grateful. She had been taken in immediately, and felt at home in a way she had not since last she was in Caras Galadhon, the land of her birth.  
  
The houses soon began to thin, replaced by stands of ancient oaks spattered with the bright white of birches. The road grew rougher, and Celebrían picked her way around the wide mud puddles, gradually working her way into the verdant hills above the city. The air was cooler and fresher out here, and she sucked it greedily into her nostrils. The breezes and birdsong soothed her, in a way not even Gaerdhal's calming presence could.  
  
She thought of him and a small smile crept across her lips. He was the healer who cared for her upon arriving in these lands five hundred years ago, his loyal ministrations that had brought her back from the brink of darkness. She would be in his debt forever for the second chance he had given her, and yet...and yet she could not bring herself to give him what he so clearly needed. Her friends had carefully asked why she did not just accept Gaerdhal's love, why she resisted him all the while claiming that Elrond would never leave Middle Earth. They wondered why she still clung to the memories of her husband when it appeared they would never be together again. Celebrían always changed the subject, but she knew she denied Gaerdhal for the same reason she refused to move away from this port city even though the arrival of every vessel caused her pain. She had not given up on her husband. Though her mind screamed for her to move on, to forget, to start over, every fiber of her being resisted, with every waking thought and with every dream at night, she pleaded with the fates to bring Elrond back to her.  
  
Celebrían looked down at the satchel of food swinging at her side. Why did she wait half an age for one man to cross the sea, while right before her was another who could never be more than a mile from her without worry? On days when the ships arrived, Celebrían always packed enough food for two, for Gaerdhal usually tracked her down before the sun was high. Wasn't that a sign? Shouldn't his devotion mean something to her?  
  
For the first time in all these years, Celebrían paused with a frown, and sat down on the side of the road. She arranged her plain blue skirt beneath her and pulled her knees up to her chin. She had always seen how far she could get before Gaerdhal found her, tried to disappear into the woods and test his skills as a tracker. Never before had she just waited, made it easy for him to find her. Maybe it was finally time to stop running.

* * *

Gaerdhal smiled a little, kneeling beside the muddy path and studying the small footprint. She was keeping to the road longer than usual, she should have veered off by now. They had been playing this game for so many years, but she still managed to surprise him from time to time.  
  
When he rounded a corner, he saw her there, sitting on the road with her legs drawn up and her eyes closed. Gaerdhal's eyes widened in terror and he called her name, running to her.  
  
"Cel! Cel, are you all right?"  
  
He dropped to his knees at her side, and she looked up at him with a quiet grin. Gaerdhal looked sheepish, "I thought you might be hurt or ill. Instincts of a healer, I guess. What are you doing?"  
  
"Waiting for you," she said simply.  
  
Gaerdhal held his breath, settling back on his heels to study her more carefully. There was something different in her eyes, something he had never seen before. When in the past there was always a distance she maintained from him, he could see it had now disappeared like a fog dissolved by the touch of sunlight. He leaned in closer to her, and noticed she smelled like strawberries. His hand shook as he reached up, meaning to touch her perfect jawline with his finger, trace the jagged white scar that snaked across her cheekbone, a faint remnant of her stormy past. He thought that the scar somehow added to her allure, that her beauty was only amplified by the mysterious mark. Her lips parted and she gazed up at him, trust shining from eyes the color of the sea. But, with the same tempestuous volatility as the ocean, her face suddenly changed.  
  
He could see her lips were trembling, her bright blue eyes widened in some nameless emotion. He drew back, sure he had startled her, but then saw she was looking not at him, but at something over his right shoulder. Gaerdhal spun, and saw at the curve in the path a strange elf watching them in silent rage. Gaerdhal stood, raising a hand in greeting, or to fend off an attack, he was not sure which. The stranger's voice seemed to rumble through the rocky ground all around them as he growled, "Get away from my wife."

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Huge thanks to my reviewers Zammy, raine, KissTheRainGirl12489, Losseniaiel, and Nightshade3!! 


	3. Never the Same

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

**Chapter 3: Never the Same**

Celebrían looked down at the ground in front of her, watching with sudden fascination as an ant wound its way through the blades of grass. She did not look up, even as she felt Gaerdhal draw away, heard the crunch of Elrond's boots over the gravel of the road. Tears burned her eyes mercilessly, and she closed them, shutting out the silent progress of the ant, the sunlight and the shadows and the entire world, sure she could not face this moment. This was all she had wanted and desired for all these years, but now that it was happening, she was terrified. She wasn't ready.

Above the strange roaring sound in her head, she vaguely heard Gaerdhal say, "My Lord Elrond, my apologies...I'll...I'll be moving on now."

But, Gaerdhal could not simply leave Celebrían so clearly distressed. He dropped back to one knee, gripping her shoulder. He whispered her name and finally she looked up at him, her eyes nearly wild with clashing emotions. "You will be all right, Cel. Your wish has finally come true."

She nodded mutely, and watched as he rose, walking stiffly down the path back to the city. And, suddenly, they were alone.

The silence was ominous, not even the birds dared sing in such charged air. Celebrían had imagined this moment so many times, pictured herself running to him in joy, her hair flowing out behind her, throwing herself into Elrond's strong arms. But, she could not seem to bring herself to even look up at him. All she could do was squeeze her arms tighter around her legs, curl further into herself and try not to sob.

Elrond had imagined their reunion too, but his speculations were not as cheerful. He had pictured her in a grand home with a handsome new husband, emerging lazily from another elf's bed. There had been images of betrayal and rejection, but none of it had compared to this. All the terrible visions he had conjured over the centuries were not half as terrible as the reality he now faced. Watching her cowering before him, refusing to even meet his gaze, hurt him in a way he had never felt before. Seeing her nearly in the arms of that son of a goblin that had just scurried wisely away was painful enough, but watching her now, turned inward in fear, was like a nightmare.

Elrond took another step, the fine cloth of his cloak brushing the scratchy grass. Celebrían never saw the look of agony that filled his gray eyes as he stared down at her, she was still trying to resist a torrent of hot tears.

With almost shamed interest, Elrond studied his wife. She was beautiful, more beautiful even than he remembered in his dreams. Her hair shone silver across her shoulders, shot through with highlights of gold. He could see a thick white scar slashing across her brow, and recalled with horrible clarity the night he had sewn that wound shut.

The thought of what had torn them apart now drove Elrond to his knees. He ducked his head, looking into Celebrían's face and whispering her name. He reached out and brushed his thumb over the scar, picking up a strand of hair at the same time and sweeping it out of her eyes. Finally, her eyes opened, but she could not look at him, she just stared intently at the ground again.

"Celebrían, I love you."

She broke down, her face twisting as a sob shuddered up her chest. Elrond's arms closed around her, but she did not relax. Her body remained as stiff as if he was a stranger. Elrond pulled away, tears of hurt biting his own eyes.

"Where—Where are the children?" she stammered, glancing past him.

"They're not here, they're in Middle Earth. They're...they're not coming. There's so much I need to tell you, I..."

"Not coming?" Celebrían said incredulously, "What in Mordor do you mean 'not coming'?" I want to see my children!" Her voice rose with barely contained hysteria, she knew she had to calm down, but how could she? How could she maintain composure knowing she may never see her children again?

She struggled to her feet, brushing past Elrond and into the trees. She had no idea where she was going. She just knew she wanted to get there fast.

"Celebrían!" Elrond called, spinning after her. He had gone only a few steps when he stopped, cursing in frustration. He shook his head, gritting his jaw until he feared his molars would crack. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

* * *

Gaerdhal entered the cool darkness of his home, and saw that his sister had closed the shades against the afternoon sun. He fell awkwardly into a chair, bowing his head, suddenly too exhausted to do anything else. He didn't even look up as the door creaked open.

"What's wrong?" His sister, Tellora, asked in her usual no-nonsense voice. He reluctantly looked up from beneath his lashes, and saw that she carried a massive armload of folded sheets. She was a launderer, working in a shop below their home. Gaerdhal bit back a sigh, sitting up straight.

"I went to find Celebrían in the hills. As I was speaking with her, Lord Elrond found us."

"What?" Tellora gasped, dropping her laundry onto the counter and pulling up a chair, "What did you do?"

"I left," Gaerdhal shrugged, "What could I do?"

"You could have stayed, stayed by her side like you've always done."

"He is her husband," Gaerdhal said quietly, "I have no right to be near her anymore."

"Where has he been for all these years?" Tellora snapped, jumping angrily to her feet. She had a special gift for voicing what others dared not say, and Gaerdhal could not resist a dry smile. She retrieved her washing with choppy, violent motions, yanking a jar of soap from the cupboard. "If you ask me, you are the one who has helped her, cared for her for all of these years. You have rights. Don't forget that."

Tellora shifted the heavy load in her arms, waddling to her older brother. Her face softened and she said, "Are you going to be all right, Gaerdhal?"

He looked up, a half smile cracking his face but not reaching his troubled eyes, "I'll be fine. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'll be fine."

She smiled back, but sensed that he wanted to be alone. She turned for the stairs, groping for the top step with her foot since she could not see where she was going around the armful of laundry.

When Tellora was gone, Gaerdhal rose, wandering aimlessly from room to room. He began to note as he walked all the things in their home that Celebrían had given to them, or absent-mindedly left behind after one of her visits. There was the embroidered pillow in the sitting room, a green cloak on a hook by the door, a half-eaten pie she had baked for them the day before. Gaerdhal ran his hand carefully over the painting in the hallway, feeling along the rough canvas with his fingertips. It was an image of the sea, the white spray of waves as the sun rose behind them. Celebrían had painted it for him, it must have been 300 hundred years ago now. _She is so talented, so can do anything_, Gaerdhal thought with a quiet grin. It fell quickly from his face as he realized things would never be the same again. That same beautiful sea Celebrían had masterfully captured on canvas had now delivered to their shores a force that threatened to turn his world upside down.

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**Huge** thanks to my reviewers Tigerlily, isis whit, alena and especially Kirsty-Q for giving me a good laugh and helping me get my butt in gear with updating!! 


	4. The Exile

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter One.

**Chapter 4: The Exile**

As night settled in over Tol Eressea, Gaerdhal's restlessness did not wane. He was now in his office next door to his sister's shop, rearranging the already meticulous bottles of herbs and tonics for the tenth time. The light clicking of glass on the polished wooden shelves nearly drowned out the soft knock on the door. Gaerdhal froze, unsure at first if he had heard it at all. Then, the sound came again, more insistent this time.

When Gaerdhal opened the door, he found on his doorstep a dejected, exhausted Celebrían. There were leaves in her hair, her clothes were muddied, and she clutched her right arm against her chest. She looked up at him, her eyelids puffy and her blue eyes bloodshot from crying.

Gaerdhal drew her into the room by her other arm, closing the door against the chill night air. "Cel, what happened?"

"I fell," she whispered, her voice scratchy, "I think I hurt my arm."

Gaerdhal urged her to sit in a chair and knelt before her. He did not press her for more information, though he wanted to ask where her husband was and how could he leave her in such a state.

As Gaerdhal gently washed the blood from Celebrían's arm, she began to speak. "I ran. I don't know why. It was childish, and...and foolish, but I didn't know what else to do. When he told me...when he told me my children were still in the East and were not coming I became irrational."

"Why would they not join you here?" Gaerdhal asked.

Celebrían's face twisted in shame, "I never gave him a chance to explain, I just ran off. I ran for a long time, but then I came to a ravine and caught my foot in a tree root and I fell. I rolled all the way to the bottom and I lay there for a while thinking of how many times you had told me I was going to hurt myself out there alone, how if only I had listened to you I wouldn't..."

"Shhh..." Gaerdhal soothed, placing a hand on the back of her head and waiting for her to look at him. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Celebrían shook her head, casting her eyes down to her lap again.

"Your arm is not broken, but I will need to sew the wound shut."

Celebrían nodded, but Gaerdhal watched as a single tear fell from her chin. He knew then that her sutures were going to have to wait. Gaerdhal wrapped his arms around her as she fell into his shoulder, sobbing her heart out. Gaerdhal rubbed her back and silently cursed Elrond for causing Celebrían such undeserved pain.

Finally, Celebrían pulled away with a nervous, choking laugh. "I've cried so much today I think I'm dehydrated."

"Are you thirsty? I'm sorry, I didn't even ask..."

Celebrían waved a dismissive hand, then scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Gaerdhal, I just...I'm just having a strange day."

Gaerdhal smiled fondly at her, "Don't apologize. You can cry all you want."

"No," she said firmly, "I am done with that for the day. It accomplishes nothing more than making others uncomfortable."

"I take it your husband is not good around crying ladies?" Gaerdhal asked.

Celebrían rolled her eyes, "He's terrified of them, it's so silly."

Gaerdhal managed a weak smile, but rose and began gathering supplies to stitch her wound. It was strange to hear her speak of Elrond now, for over the past five hundred years he had learned little about her husband. She spoke endlessly of the twins and Arwen, such that Gaerdhal almost felt he knew them, but she shied away from talk of Elrond.

Gaerdhal turned back to her, dabbing on a bit of balm that would numb her skin. She still winced a little as the first stitch went in, and he paused.

"I'm all right," she assured through gritted teeth and Gaerdhal continued his work. He could feel Celebrían staring at him and finally she said, "Gaerdhal, if you had not become a healer, what do you think you would have been?"

Gaerdhal struggled to hold back a grin as he said, "A singer."

A laugh bubbled from Celebrían's mouth. It felt good to laugh. Gaerdhal was legendary for his atrocious singing voice, enough that it was widely joked that he was either part orc or part dwarf. He took the ribbing well and was the first to admit he couldn't carry a tune with a wheelbarrow.

Gaerdhal, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on her arm, grew more serious and said, "It was never really a question whether or not I would be a healer. My sister was so wild I swear I spent most of my youth either chasing her down or sewing her back together. Did I ever tell you about the time Tellora climbed the mast of Cirdan's flagship and slipped coming down? She broke her leg and spent the rest of the summer indoors. But, I learned to set a broken bone that day. It's a miracle she made it to adulthood."

Celebrían was smiling widely now. She loved hearing stories of Gaerdhal's childhood in the Grey Havens, nearly as much as he enjoyed her tales of Lothlorien. She looked down, seeing Gaerdhal was securing the last knot, relieved that it was finished. She sensed motion out of the corner of her eye, and saw the door inch open. A nearly palpable excitement and amazement lit the room as Celebrían cried, "Mother? Mother, is it really you?"

Celebrían scrambled out of the chair and across the room. She nearly fell into Galadriel's arms, giggling and giddy with happiness, "Mother, I never thought you would come. I never thought you _could_ come here."

Galadriel smiled softly, "It would appear the Valar feel my penance was paid. I am an exile no longer."

Celebrían edged back, looking more closely at the tall, noble form of her mother. She was as radiant as ever, and yet...she seemed smaller, a little faded, changed somehow. And then, Celebrían knew.

"The rings...It has happened, hasn't it? The power of the rings has ended."

"Yes," Galadriel replied, a sadness dulling her blue gaze, "Caras Galadhon is diminished, just as I am diminished."

Celebrían's face lit with a spontaneous smile, "Well, I think you still look wonderful. Doesn't this Western air just make you feel like you might take flight? It still amazes me. Mother, you must meet my friend. This is Gaerdhal. He is a genius when it comes to healing, and he uses many herbs found only on this island. Surely you would have much to speak about."

Galadriel smiled warmly at the quiet elf watching over their reunion with utter patience. Gaerdhal bowed before this living legend, but his gaze kept returning to Celebrían. A great burst of energy seemed to have taken her, a sweet joyfulness. He imagined this is how she had once been in her days as the most beloved child in Lothlorien.

"Child," Galadriel said, "You are hurt. What happened?"

The more pensive, hesitant Celebrían returned to them in an instant. "I—I will explain later, Mother. I really need to change my clothes."

Celebrían turned to Gaerdhal, quietly saying, "Thank you. I will bake another pie in payment for—"

"Don't you dare," Gaerdhal ordered, pressing a jar of balm into her hand and saying, "Keep the wound clean and put this on it morning and night. Come back in a week and I will remove the stitches."

Celebrían nodded, wrapping her other hand around his where it still gripped the jar of balm.

She spun quickly away, "Come on, Mother, I can show you my house. It is nothing special, not like our talan in Caras Galadhon, but I like it."

"Good to meet you, Gaerdhal," Galadriel said before turning for the door.

"My Lady," Gaerdhal's tone was cautious, controlled as he bowed his head.

The silent streets were lit by the weak glow of a young moon and the soft orange light pouring out of the windows. Celebrían led her mother to a modest building three doors down from Gaerdhal's office.

"You live quite close to your friend," Galadriel observed.

"Yes," Celebrían said, "When I first came here, I was very ill. I stayed in Gaerdhal's care full-time for a while. Then, he found this house for me, so I would still be close if I became sick again."

Celebrían lit the lantern in the sitting room, and Galadriel turned slowly, trying to take in all the small details of her daughter's new life. There were half-finished canvases everywhere, images of sunsets and wildlife and waterfalls. The furniture was sparse, the walls painted a soft blue. Just at the edge of the circle of weak lantern light, Galadriel saw a large painting hanging on the wall, and was drawn to it. It was prominently displayed, positioned so it was the first thing a guest would see upon entering her home. Galadriel could see it then, the strong lines of the mallorn's trunk, the graceful arches of the great talan, and she was transported for a moment back to Caras Galadhon, back to the peaceful Lothlorien of Celebrían's youth. She glanced back at Celebrían, who stood in the middle of the room with a nervous smile. "Do you like it?" she asked.

"It is perfect." Galadriel scanned it with her eyes, seeing on the terrace of the talan the figure of a male and female elf, and her eyes misted a little as she realized the female elf was Galadriel herself, standing at her husband's side.

"I did the best I could, from memory. I'm sure I got some of the details wrong."

"I don't think you did," Galadriel said in awe, unable to tear her gaze from the painting, "It looks just as I remember it too."

"Father isn't here, is he?"

Galadriel bowed her head, the abrupt question like a kick to her chest. "No," she whispered, "He will remain in that land dearest to him, as I knew he would. There could be no other way, and yet...and yet I had no idea how hard it would be to leave him there."

Celebrían frowned, quietly replying, "I remember the day Elrond put me on the ship. I remember lying on that cot below deck and feeling like I might die from the pain of it. Suddenly, my injuries were the least of my worries. My heart hurt worst of all. He vowed to me that day that we would be together again. But, I didn't really believe him."

"He said you ran from him today, he said you would not speak to him."

Celebrían sat on the edge of a chair, pursing her lips and refusing to meet her mother's eyes. "He's right," was all she could choke out.

Galadriel left the painting with clear reluctance, moving to stand over her daughter, "Why? You still love him, I know you do. Why did you turn him away?"

Celebrían stood, pacing the floor restlessly, "I don't know," she said, throwing up her hands. "It was too much for me to handle, and then when he said the children are not here, I lost all control. You don't understand mother, I've made a life for myself here, a nice, quiet, comfortable life built on the assumption that none of you would leave Middle Earth and I needed to start over. Now, Elrond sweeps into town and everything is different. Everything is different. I'm not like you and Father, I can't handle change and danger and upheaval. I'm not strong like you."

Galadriel stepped in front of Celebrían, halting her jerky pacing by grabbing her arms. "You are strong, if you were not, you would have died on the mountainside that day,"

"I don't want to talk about that," Celebrían said coldly, extracting her arms.

Galadriel watched her daughter for a moment, and Celebrían saw in her mother's eyes a vulnerability that had never been there before. The legendary warrior queen her mother had always been melted before her, and on an uncertain whisper, she said, "You blame me too, don't you?"

"Mother, what are you talking about?"

"It is my fault, because I always wanted you to come back to Lorien to visit me. If I had left you alone, you never would have been hurt." Galadriel said on a great rush of breath, her eyes shining with restrained tears.

"Mother," Celebrían said, shaking her head in utter disbelief, "Don't tell me you have thought that for all this time? It was not your fault. It was the orcs' fault. That is the truth, now let us leave it and never speak of it again."

Galadriel nodded, and sank down into a chair in relief. Five hundred years she had been living with that guilt, being absolved of it now was like being unshackled from heavy chains.

"When did you start painting?" Galadriel asked, glad to move to a new topic.

"While I was recovering. I was becoming restless, but Gaerdhal was reluctant to let me outside, so he brought me a canvas and paints so I could keep busy without leaving the building. He's clever like that, he tricked me into staying in bed for another two weeks that way."

Galadriel smiled. "You have many works here. You must really enjoy it."

"Oh, some of these are for buyers. I do portraits and custom work, I also paint houses and furniture...whatever people need."

"So—so, this is your job?" Galadriel said with a frown. She was having difficulty imagining her daughter going from the child of Celeborn and Galadriel and the wife of Lord Elrond of Imladris to a...a commoner. She looked at her daughter again and saw that she seemed comfortable with this arrangement, there was not a hint of shame on her face.

"Yes, Mother, I had to find some way to support myself. I'm not good at much else," she admitted sheepishly, "So painting worked out very well. I'm told that I am talented, but I think anyone could do it if they put in the time."

Galadriel glanced back at the painting of Caras Galadhon, haunting in its accuracy and subtlety. "No," she murmured, "Not just anyone could do that."

She looked back at her daughter, her maternal instincts taking over as she assessed the younger elf. "You must rest, child. You have had a long day. I think you should take Elrond for a walk tomorrow, show him around this city, show him your beautiful paintings—"

"Mother," Celebrían groaned in frustration.

Galadriel held up her hand, saying in her own defense, "I don't mean to meddle, I just think you should at least see him, in the morning, when you are rested and calm."

Celebrían bit her lip, drawing in a deep breath. "All right, Mother. I will try."

* * *

Thanks to my ever-marvelous reviewers TigerLily, Ash49, The Water Sprite, Erindi, Elegant Couture, Lady Cantera, alena, Kirsty-Q, and Ellie. You guys rock!


	5. The Meadow

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

**Chapter 5: The Meadow**

Celebrian hovered nervously outside the door to the mayor's office, wringing her hands and frowning. She could hear Elrond's voice through the gleaming wooden door, along with the softer speech of Galadriel. After a sleepless night of uncertainty and unease, Celebrian had gone in search of Elrond, only to be told he was in a meeting with the mayor of Tol Eressea. She had nearly given up.

But, she had convinced herself that she must find him, to give him another chance to speak with her. She felt foolish for running away as she had. Her anxiety was only amplified by the solemn silence of the government offices of Tol Eressea. Of course the mayor would greet Elrond as an honored guest, he was an elf of great renown even on this side of the ocean. But, the thought of her husband as the respected statesman made her uncomfortable. As child of Galadriel and Celeborn, she had been exposed to pomp and pageantry all her life. But, she had been surprised when starting a new, simpler life in the West, to find she did not miss such formalities one bit.

She didn't belong here, this was a mistake. For probably the fifth time, she spun to leave, determined this time to go back to the sanctuary of her home and the predictable comfort of her paints. But, she heard the soft click of a turning doorknob. Celebrian turned back, her escape thwarted, and met Elrond's eyes with a confidence she did not feel.

Elrond would have been no less surprised to see Sauron himself standing in the hallway as he was to see his wife. He froze in the doorway, studying her openly. She looked small in the airy corridor, her hair wound in a thick braid over her shoulder. One arm was held more gingerly at her side, careful sutures crossing the reddened skin.

Elrond might have stared at her for an age had he not felt Galadriel jab a finger into his back. He jumped slightly and stammered, "Your—your arm?"

_Stupid_, he scolded himself, _How could I say something so stupid?_

"It's fine," she said. She inhaled loudly, drawing herself up and saying, "I have to go gather plants. I'm nearly out of blue paint. Do you want to walk with me?"

There was an almost child-like eagerness in Elrond's face as he nodded quickly.

Celebrian managed a weak, relieved smile. She inclined her head toward the door and turned away, not looking back to see if he followed. As she emerged into the morning bustle of Tol Eressea, she could feel him move close behind her, sense his eyes on her as he patiently followed. She bit her lip, uncomfortable, and ashamed for being uncomfortable. He was her husband, she should not react like this, with fear and mistrust. She felt so wretched, so torn, but fought to hold her shoulders straight and walk with controlled steps down the streets.

Elrond curled his hand into a fist, his eyes fixed on Celebrian's right hand. He wanted to take her hand so badly, he thought he had never wanted anything so much in all his life, but he hesitated. She still had a frail wildness about her, like a barely broken colt that might bolt at any second. That she had sought him out, it was a start, and he dared not risk this shaky arrangement.

So, he kept his arms carefully at his sides. Celebrian then stopped so suddenly that he nearly ran into her, and he looked up, seeing a short elf maiden staring at him in obvious suspicion.

Elrond kept his eyes neutral, stepping up to Celebrian's side as she greeted, "Tellora, how are you this morning?"

"I'm all right," she murmured, her sharp blue eyes not leaving Elrond's face for a single moment.

"Tellora, this is Elrond, my—my husband," the slight hesitation was noticed by all three, Elrond in particular. "Elrond, this is Tellora, Gaerdhal's younger sister."

Elrond bowed before her, resisting a slight smile. Her gaze had lost none of its venom, and despite her small stature, she was a formidable creature, he could see that already. She nodded frostily back, but finally turned her eyes on Celebrian. "I have not seen you in days, Celebrian. You must come visit Gaerdhal and I tonight."

Celebrian glanced nervously at Elrond, "Yes, I will try, Tellora. Please, thank Gaerdhal again for me for fixing my arm. It is feeling much better today."

"I will do that. You both have a good day," Tellora said with forced courtesy.

Tellora continued down the street, a frown creasing her round, normally playful face. She wished she could have told Celebrian the truth. That Gaerdhal walked about their home like a ghost, he hadn't smiled all day, and he was not eating. But, though she was not the most tactful elf, Tellora knew it was not the time or place. Celebrian would see for herself soon enough the dull pallor that had filled Gaerdhal's face and soul.

But, what was to be done? Tellora wondered in frustration. Maybe her brother was right, maybe there was nothing else for him to do but fade into the shadows of Celebrian's life. It was just so incredibly unfair.

Further down the street, Elrond was trailing behind his wife, looking about him now at the graceful but subtle architecture and brightly painted shutters of the buildings they passed. He leaned in toward Celebrian, whispering around a grin, "I don't think she likes me."

Celebrian could not resist a wry smile of her own, "Tellora does not bother with the false pleasantries other elves get bogged down in. She is a realist. I think that is why I like her so much."

This was surely a side of his wife he had not seen before. He lengthened his steps to reach her side, glancing at her in curiosity and then looking back at his feet.

"I painted that," she said nonchalantly, waving a hand at a mural on the side of a dress shop. It was a nearly effervescent collage of vibrantly colored birds of sorts he had never seen before. They flitted among green vegetation, appearing so life-like he would swear he saw their feathers ruffle in the breeze.

"Celebrian," he said, and she looked back at him. He was gazing at her with such feeling that she blushed a deep red, "Celebrian, it is wonderful. I—I didn't know you painted."

"Neither did I," she said casually, continuing down the road and trying to cool down her scarlet cheeks by force of will alone. "I didn't learn it until I came here. I didn't have too many options when I was confined to my bed for four months. It was either that or needlework. And I always rather despised needlework."

They were leaving the city now, and Elrond watched her climb the rocky path ahead with ease. She clearly came here often. He gazed about at the towering pines, their deep green slashing through the bright blue sky. "It is beautiful here," he commented, scrambling to catch up with her. She stopped, glancing around with narrowed, searching eyes. Finally, she started into a clearing, yanking handfuls of rather nondescript grasses and shoving them into a pouch. All pretenses of dignity forgotten, Elrond hurried through the whispering grasses, imitating his wife. He walked over to her, offering up a handful of the precious plants with the same expectant vulnerability with which a child presents a fistful of dandelions to an adored parent. The absurdity of it was not lost on Celebrian, who fought a wide grin. Finally, it broke over her features, and she laughed deeply, her shoulders shuddering. Elrond watched with awe the change that came over her, the dancing light of her eyes, the soft curve of her lips as she smiled at him. It transported him back five hundred years, to a similar sunny day of pine-scented air and trilling laughter...

"Honestly, Mother, you've packed enough for at least two armies. You are planning on coming back from Lothlorien at some time, aren't you?"

Celebrian narrowed her eyes at her son, "It is only one trunk, Elladan. I do not think that is unreasonable."

"But, it is all dresses," he complained, grunting as he tossed the heavy trunk onto the back of an old mule, "What in Arda do you need so many dresses for?"

Celebrian turned to her loyal horse, a chestnut mare of similar gentle disposition to her master. She rubbed the horse's neck thoughtfully, telling Elladan. "There are certain expectations of me in Caras Galadhon, Elladan. I must appear a certain way to others while I visit."

"What do you care what they all think of you? Is having a dress for every day of the month that important in Lothlorien?"

Celebrian smiled indulgently, meeting her son's gray eyes, "It is a different world from here. I can assure you of that."

Elladan digested this, but looked up as his father descended a flight of stone stairs, brittle leaves crunching under his feet.

"Your escort awaits you, milady."

She batted at his arm. "Don't use titles with me, _My Lord_."

He chuckled, but then a frown crossed his handsome face. "What do you need that big trunk for?"

Elladan nearly doubled over with laughter and Celebrían rolled her eyes skyward.

Elrond cocked his head, wondering what he had missed. He saw that Elladan was securing the last of his mother's luggage onto the mule and it would soon be time for her to go. He took the reins of Celebrian's horse, and began leading it to the gates. Celebrian fell in step beside him, slipping her hand into his. "I wish I could go with you," he said apologetically, looking over at her.

"You have duties here, I understand that. Next time, Elrond, next time we will go together."

"That won't be until five or ten or so years from now, right?" he asked with thinly veiled hope.

"Elrond," Celebrian sighed, "I thought you and my parents were getting along better."

He smiled ruefully, "We are, but your father can be awfully intimidating."

"Is that why you are not coming with me? Because of them?"

Elrond looked over at her again, expecting to see her eyes dancing with playfulness, but was surprised to see deep seriousness, even hurt behind the question. He paused for a moment, then said, "No, Celebrian. I really must stay here. Things don't feel right anymore...don't feel safe. Do you sense it too?"

Celebrian did not answer right away, but finally murmured, "Yes. I don't know exactly what it is, but there is something in the air."

"Maybe you should not go," Elrond said cautiously.

She shook her head, dismissing his worries immediately, "I'll be fine. Nothing is going to happen to me, I've made this trip a hundred times." She looked up, studying the sky and narrowing her eyes, "It smells like a storm is coming."

Now, in a meadow in Tol Eressea, Elrond struggled not to think of that time, tried not to remember the sound of her choppy, labored breathing as his sons brought her to him weeks later, the sight of her bruised and bloodied face looking up at him. Elrond shook his head briskly, watching as the same woman, now healed, turned away and moved through the windswept grasses. Over the whistling of the rising winds, he faintly heard her say, "Hmm...It smells like a storm is coming."

* * *

**Thank you so much to my reviewers, Lady Cantera, Ellie, Erindi, Elegant Couture, Lady of the Twilight Woods, Tigerlily, Star4, and Rocco.**

**You honestly don't know how happy your support makes me! Thanks!**


	6. A Painful Truth

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1.

**Chapter 6: A Painful Truth**

Celebrían and Elrond wandered further into the meadow, stirring up grasshoppers that flitted before them, darting away with a sharp whirring sound. A few small, yellow butterflies drifted more calmly amid the chaos of the grasshoppers, seeming unfazed by the approaching elves. A silence settled between Celebrían and Elrond, but it was becoming a more comfortable silence.

She was so much more solemn than he remembered, and to Elrond's eyes, it did not suit her. Her face was closed and her manner stiff, and he was left to wonder if she was always this way now…or only around him?

The wind grew more insistent, the grass making sounds like a thousand panicked whispers. Elrond turned, seeing the horizon was washed with an ominous shade of blue-gray. Celebrían still wandered well ahead, paying little mind. The vibrant hues of the meadow were tainted by the sickly yellow light that precedes a storm.

"I think we should go back to the city," Elrond called, hearing thunder grumble from the skies above.

Celebrían looked up, contemplating the clouds calmly. Her silver braid swung along her back as she tipped her head. He saw then that though all else was made dull and faded by the strange, heavy light, she retained her color, she defied the darkness with her own tiny glow.

She met Elrond's gray eyes for a long moment. There was defiance in her stance, in the rigid set of her lips. With the exception of Gaerdhal's gentle admonitions, she was not used to being told what to do. Another clap of thunder broke across the sky, closer, and Celebrían jumped.

"Let's go back," she agreed, turning for the city with quick, nervous steps. Storms sprang up quickly on the island, and she felt a little foolish that Elrond, a foreigner, had been more aware than she. The first fat, cold raindrop hit her hard on the top of the head, and a shiver tickled down her spine. She marched stolidly on as the sky split open, a deluge of chilled rain pouring over them and soaking her clothing in seconds. The wind shifted, sending crossing sheets of rain before them, blurring the trees. Only the bolts of blue lightning cut through the curtain of water, the boom of thunder heard over the rain, very close now.

Celebrían looked down, seeing that a stream of muddy water was rushing down the path, wearing away the dirt and leaving the rocks slick. Celebrían's foot slipped out from under her, she threw her arms up, struggling to say upright. She fell back into Elrond's hands; surprised it was his soggy chest her head impacted and not a sharp rock. He gripped her waist and had to shout in her ear, "We have to get out of this."

Celebrían said nothing, and did not fight Elrond when he tore off his outer shirt and covered her head and shoulders with it. He wrapped his arm around her just as the hail started. Misshapen balls of ice the size of large acorns pelted Elrond's face as he tucked Celebrían against him and ran. He was only fairly sure he was still on the trail, and just hoped he wasn't running her off a cliff. It seemed forever he ran, the hail just getting larger and stinging more sharply with each step. He struggled to keep his balance as the ground became coated with chunks of ice, and when Celebrían tripped, he lifted her against him, dragging her on. Then, as if by some miracle, a structure appeared, looking solid and safe, beckoning Elrond forward.

Elrond didn't care if it was someone's home or Manwë's own council chambers, he had to get his wife out of this storm. He wrenched the heavy wooden door open, shoving her in before him and slamming the door shut. He leaned back against the door, bracing his hands against his knees and panting. When finally he looked up, he saw from the dim light of the single window that they were in a storage shed; shovels, rope, and wheelbarrows were scattered about the musty building.

"Celebrían, are you all right?" He pushed away from the door, going to her where she leaned weakly against the wall. She was shivering, her teeth clamped together to stop their chattering. Her eyes looked huge in her pale face, her scars almost invisible on her colorless skin. Elrond studied her eyes, lifting a hand to her damp cheek. He rubbed his thumb over her skin, and for a second, he would have sworn her eyes begged him to kiss her. But, a crack of thunder that shook the walls and rattled the single window of the shed seemed to bring her back to her senses, and she ducked away, wringing out her braid with anxious hands.

Elrond opened his mouth for a moment, thinking to comment on her distance, but he said nothing, hoping she might speak when she was ready. Elrond frowned, struggling to strip his undershirt over his head, draping it over a wheelbarrow handle to dry. He kneeled down, attempting to untangle his wet bootlaces. He looked up and saw Celebrían standing at the tiny window, staring out at the storm.

"You should stay away from the window. It is still hailing, it could break..."

Elrond trailed off, watching as her small hand rose, pressing lightly against the cool glass. A dull, blue-hued light came through the window, washing over her perfect face. Her voice was so quiet, so fragile when she spoke that Elrond dared not breathe, that he might not hear her.

"Tell me about my children. Did they marry? Are they happy? Did they have children? Do I have grandchildren across the sea?"

She was crying now, her body shaking so wildly she could barely speak, her hand splayed like a claw on the window.

Elrond crossed the room in two steps, drawing Celebrían into his arms. She went gladly, sobbing into his bare chest as the thunder growled outside, more distant now.

"I want them to be here," she said, "I would give anything to see them again. Why did they do this to me? Why did they leave me here, dying inside from missing them? Don't they love me anymore? Have they forgotten me?"

"They never forgot you. Not for a single moment. They love you very much."

"Then where are they?" she cried.

Elrond moved her away from the window, to a corner of the shed where he sat on the smooth dirt floor. He settled her against him, curled in his lap with her head against his chest. He told her everything he could think of about Arwen and the twins, how hard-hit Elladan was by her departure, how passionately he and his brother had hunted orcs, about Aragorn, about Arwen's choice to live as a mortal. Elrond could feel Celebrían's smile against his skin at some of his tales and feel tears slip anew down her cheeks at others. She never asked questions, but remained silent, absorbing all that he said reverently, for she had thirsted for this for five hundred years.

Yellow sunlight was slanting through the window when Elrond fell silent, the storm but a memory and the hail long-since melted. Celebrían stared intently into the square of sunlight that nearly touched Elrond's feet as she asked, "And you? What happened to you in the past five hundred years?"

He was quiet for so long she was sure he would not answer. Finally, his deep voice nearly shaking with contained emotion, he said, "Nothing. Nothing that matters. For five centuries I drifted, soulless, alone, waiting for this moment. Waiting for the day I could hold you again."

Elrond closed his eyes, pulling her tighter against him.

Celebrían said nothing, just sat obediently, her eyes wide and her heart troubled. Elrond had existed in the realm of their past, sustained only by memories. She had, after some reluctance, started over, rebuilt her world into a new one—one without him. A wretched emptiness filled her now, a crippling guilt nearly overwhelmed her as she realized it was not the others who had forgotten her, but she who had forgotten them.

* * *

Thank you so much to my reviewers: Lady Cantara, Star4, Ellfine, Erindi, Kirsty-Q, Lady of the Twilight Woods, lord elo, ATMachine, Rocco, Narwen Almiriel, delumacar, Faerchithiel (whew, hope I didn't miss anyone, I'm not used to this volume of reviews.) You guys rock, keep on me about updating faster, don't let me get away with these delays anymore. :)

Thanks to any of you still out there, I won't even try to make an excuse for the inexcusable delay between chapters. I will try to do better. More Gaerdhal in the next chapter, hope you like it!


	7. Sunset

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

**Chapter 7: Sunset**

Gaerdhal gazed out the large window of his office, watching the pebbles of hail shrink beneath the onslaught of unexpected sun. His lunch sat on the wide windowsill, barely picked at. He ate lunch with Celebrían often, when her eyes and hands needed a break from painting. They had not eaten together since her husband had come here. Husband. The very word hurt his insides when he thought of it.

For years, Gaerdhal had fought how he felt for Celebrían, tried to turn his attention to other women, but it had been futile. But, caring for Celebrían was just as futile, for she had always belonged to another. He had tried to brace himself for Elrond's inevitable arrival, but now, two days later, he was still reeling. Five hundred years Gaerdhal had spent with Celebrían, but now all he could wish was that he could have one more day before Elrond appeared from the east.

"That was some storm, wasn't it?" Tellora said without preamble as she came through the front door. She looked first at Gaerdhal, and second at his untouched lunch congealing in the light coming through the cloudy window.

"Gaerdhal, you must eat. Things will get better, I know they will."

Tellora's eyes were wide with uncharacteristic concern and Gaerdhal sent her a crooked grin, "You shouldn't worry, it doesn't suit you. It is supposed to be me worrying about you."

"Those days are past...I think I'm starting to mellow in my old age. Can you even remember the last time I got hurt doing something stupid?"

"Yes, last week when you decided to try and knock that hornet's nest out of the eaves—"

"All right, let's not discuss that again," Tellora snapped, unconsciously rubbing a barely-healed welt on the back of her hand. Gaerdhal rolled his eyes, reaching behind him for a small jar of balm. He slapped it into his sister's palm with a raised eyebrow. With clear reluctance, Tellora mumbled, "Thanks."

She sat in a chair, dabbing the cream onto the numerous wounds. She did not look up as she said, "I saw them both today."

Gaerdhal fought a frown, but lost the battle. "Is that right? What do you think of him?"

"Tall, stiff. Good hair. I don't think I like him."

Tellora was quiet for a long time, recapping the jar with unnecessary care. "She looks terrified, but..." she sighed, knowing she was not good at lying to anyone, let alone her eerily perceptive brother, "But, there's something between them. I can't even name it, but you can feel it at 100 paces. It's like these people in the old poems and songs, fate jerked them around, but they're drawn back together. It's the way he looks at her, the way—well, what am I talking about? What do I know of love?"

"What do any of us know of it?" Gaerdhal agreed with a sad smile.

* * *

Celebrían and Elrond walked down the same street they had traveled that morning, past the murals and the shops and the statues. One storekeeper stood on the stoop, surveying the hail damage to his windowbox of geraniums in annoyance, palms firmly planted on his hips. The couple steered wide around a circle of broken glass from a gas street lamp on the street corner.

Celebrían had fallen a step behind Elrond and she studied him in silence, realizing that his appearance had changed little from how she remembered him. His shoulders spanned wide beneath his dark blue overshirt, and his black hair lay in stringy clumps down his back, some of it still wet from the rain. His hands swung easily at his sides, the rough and scarred hands of a warrior. But he had always been a reluctant warrior. She loved that about him.

She took one large step and caught his hand. She meant for them to keep walking, for it to seem natural and right, but Elrond paused mid-step, glancing down at their joined hands with a hooded expression. He met her gaze then, his gray eyes clouded with vulnerability. She smiled at him, the smile was a tiny enigmatic smile that not even she knew the meaning of. Then, she walked on, tugging Elrond with her.

After a few more silent moments, Elrond said, "We are staying at the governor's guest manor, you mother and I. You should stay for dinner. They're serving baked apples for dessert."

Celebrían laughed at his earnest attempt to convince her, "Of course I will stay for supper, you don't need to lure me there with promises of dessert. The company is reason enough...although baked apples do sound quite good."

The pair stepped aside as a carriage passed them and a spontaneous grin popped onto Celebrían's face, the dimple on her cheek visible for the shortest instant, "Do you remember when we got the boys their first horses?"

Elrond shook his head, unable to resist a smile of his own. "Elladan named his mare Tariel after his history tutor that he was so hopelessly infatuated with."

Celebrían snorted with laughter, "And he saw the original Tariel walking while he was out for a ride, so he tried to jump the stone wall to show off—"

"And fell and broke his arm and howled like a warg until I came and set it."

"Wasn't it about that time you started hiring male tutors for him so he would concentrate?"

"Yes, but he just turned his attention to visiting dignitaries' daughters, which was a whole new batch of complications." Elrond's smile was somehow both tired and amused.

"That was the boys though, wasn't it?" Celebrían sighed, "Endless complications. Arwen was so easy to raise compared to them."

"Yes, but I wouldn't have had the boys any other way, would you?"

"No. Of course not." Celebrían replied. She was quiet for a long time, going back over in her mind all the things Elrond had told her in the tool shed, trying to reconnect with her children in some small way. She felt a little closer, now that their father was here.

Galadriel was waiting on the wide porch of the manor as they approached, as if she had been expecting them. Celebrían did not appear perplexed at all, she was used to her mother's gifts. "Hello, Mother," Celebrían said as she pulled Elrond up the stairs. She glanced away and Elrond and Galadriel took the opportunity to exchange a look. Elrond shrugged, but his eyes were smiling.

A few hours later, Elrond and Celebrían were back on the porch. Celebrían hopped up on the wide porch rail, then laid flat on her back, eyes closed and holding her stomach, "I am so full," she groaned, "But that was _so_ good."

She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face, "I nearly forgot what it was like to have someone else cook for me. Except when Gaerdhal..."

She trailed off, staring up at the inside of the porch roof with her hands clasped together over her stomach.

Elrond sat carefully on the porch rail near her feet. "You and Gaerdhal...when I first found you...it just seemed..."

"Spit it out Elrond."

He smiled at her directness, but then sobered. His gray eyes were deep and terrified, staring intently at the dusty bottom of her shoes as he asked, "Do you love him?"

"He's my dearest friend. I love him in that way." She sat up, crossing her ankles and frowning, "Are you asking if we're in love? Because no, no of course not. I'm a married woman."

Her voice had gotten higher and more uncertain and Elrond studied her profile, set off by the golden glow of the setting sun beyond her.

"But, you've thought of it?" he asked.

"No. Never. Yes." She sighed, swallowing a sudden lump of nervous distaste that was lodged in her throat. "I didn't think you'd ever come here." Celebrían jumped down from the rail, crossing her arms tightly around herself. She stared into the setting sun, even though it hurt. _I deserve the pain_, she thought. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I didn't think you would ever come here. I thought even if I was still in love with you, maybe he could love me enough for the both of us. But, every time I got too close to him, thought too long about it, every time I almost said something I thought of you. I swear I could smell you, it was like you were right next to me. It used to make me angry. I thought, 'If he will not come to me, why won't he just leave me alone?'" She shook her head, knowing she had said more than she should already. But, it did feel good to be honest. Long ago, in another life, they had told each other everything. Now, five centuries worth of secrets were between them, built up into a wall they might never tear down.

Elrond stepped behind her, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. "You should be angry. I should have come here years ago. But, I swore to you we would be together again and I kept my word." He gently turned her to face him, "I'm here now."

"I'm sorry," Celebrían murmured, "I'm sorry I doubted you."

"And I'm sorry I ever gave you reason to."

He kissed her then, gently, and she stretched onto her toes to get closer to the tall elf. He smiled against her mouth as he pulled away. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

"No." Celebrían quickly replied.

Elrond frowned deeply and Celebrían grinned in response, "I will be spending the day with my mother," she explained.

Elrond's eyes softened, "As well you should."

Celebrían almost winced in deep reluctance as she said, "I should rest. Mother and I are going sailing tomorrow."

Elrond's eyes flashed as he pulled her to him, like a spark of gray-black lightning to rival that they'd seen in the field. He held her as the sun dipped below the soft hills. He kissed her once, quickly, then bent from his substantial height to whisper in her ear, "I love you, Celebrían."

She twisted a fistful of his shirt in her hands, her fingernails digging into the fine fabric as she pressed against his body. Against his shoulder she said, "I love you too. You could never know how much."

Elrond stepped back and slipped into the building. Celebrían hovered near the top porch step for several awkward, shaken seconds, then half-ran, half-fell down the stairs. She had forgotten how her husband could throw off her equilibrium with little more than a fiery glance from his smoke-colored eyes. A huge, stupid grin spilled over her features and she spun in a single circle over the rough cobblestones, her braid whipping around as she twirled for the pure joy of it.

* * *

**Thank you always to my reviewers: The Last Temptation of Homer, Lord Elo, Oo, delumacar, Good work, Linwe lossehelin, Isabella Raven, Tigerlily, Faerchithiel, Rocco, Lady Cantara, EmySumei, and Ellfine. For everyone who sticks with me even though I don't update often enough, you are awesome!**


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